


Fili and Kili are your sons

by sycamoretree



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Durin Family, Interrogation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:38:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamoretree/pseuds/sycamoretree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for prompt on the Hobbit kink meme: In Mirkwood, Thranduil interrogates Thorin, Fili, and Kili separately. He mistakes Thorin for Fili and Kili's father. Thorin doesn't correct him. When he talks to Kili, he calls Thorin "your father" and Kili doesn't correct him. When he's talking to Fili however, Thranduil implies that Fili is Thorin's bastard just to mess with him. But then he learns the truth. This piece includes sassy dwarves, comedy, and Durin feels. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fili and Kili are your sons

“What is your destination?”

“Apologies, Elf, but I cannot answer that question.”

“Why did you enter my realm?”

“Because we were starving.”

Every time King Thranduil tried to inquire about the dwarves’ intentions, Thorin Oakenshield either answered that he couldn’t answer the specific question, or explained that his company had been starving. The interrogation didn’t go well, much to Thranduil’s chagrin. After having lived in Middle-Earth for thousands of years, he thought himself well equipped for using rhetoric to get the answers he wanted from his victims, but it turned out he had never met such a stubborn and resistant creature.

Thranduil regretted his lack of practice on dwarves. Thorin parried and blocked every verbal attack and sly move he made, simply by replying _starving_ or _cannot answer._

But then the Elven king searched his mind, deep within the labyrinth of knowledge and intelligence and thought of his first sight of the bound dwarf gang being brought to his throne room before being moved to the cells in the dungeons. A bunch of stinking, weathered, gaunt, but stoic males.

Thranduil’s inner eyes focused on each individual just like he had when he sat on his throne. Old dwarves, younger dwarves, warrior dwarves. But the younger ones…

Thranduil closed his eyes, exhaled as if he didn’t have a smug Thorin seated in front of him and saw.

Undeniable resemblance to the exiled dwarvish king. One, albeit having lush, golden hair on his head and frankly horrid braided moustaches, bore a royal air of dignity in the face of danger, standing broad and fighting his bonds behind his back just like Thorin had done for a short while before resigning himself to the infuriating apathy. But his features under the hairy face had been shaped like Thorin’s; with high cheekbones, large nose, bushy eyebrows and a spark in his eyes that Thorin also had.

Thranduil shivered as he looked further into his memory, straining his mind more than normally.

The even younger one, huddling close behind Thorin’s back, having surprisingly fine looks for he had yet to grow a proper beard, or even stubble. He also lacked braids; only wearing a silver clasp that held two strands of hair that was the colour of ravens and bears at the same time; brown and black. Mostly black though, like Thorin’s mane. But the young one did reveal pointy ears that were exactly the same shape as Thorin’s, and a distinct jawline that Thorin might hide beneath his large beard. The dark-haired one had glared at Thranduil much like his… father.

Thranduil emitted a small chuckle and brought himself from his deep meditation and back to the world where Thorin was regarding him warily.

Then the dwarf drawled to the Elven king with a voice laced with disinterest, “Oh, so the fly of Death hasn’t landed on you yet. I thought so.“

Feeling content at having found the sore point, a weakness in Thorin’s mental armour, Thranduil ignored the remark and leaned forward and brought his palms together, making his rings jingle.

“Thorin Oakenshield, I…”

“Nice eyeballs, by the way. White and everything,” Thorin interrupted flippantly and Thranduil had to contain himself to not bristle at this dwarf’s insolence.

“It’s meditation. I search through my mind, reevaluating information I’ve gathered,” Thranduil explained in a sweet tone before entwining his fingers and tilting his head, though not too much so his crown would shift.

“As stoic as you are, Oakenshield, I have discovered one secret I think you never meant for me to know.”

Now, finally, Thorin’s gaze began to dart around and he shifted on his chair as if nervous.

“Am I getting warmer if I say; the members of your Company?” Thranduil breathed and Thorin’s brows lowered and he narrowed his eyes until blue pools glared ice at Thranduil and almost chilled him.

“What of ‘em?” the dwarf growled and Thranduil smirked.

“Specifically two members… two young dwarves; one with hay-coloured hair and the other with hair like burned firewood.”

“The hairs on their heads are gold and coal!” Thorin snapped before widening his eyes and swallowing awkwardly, regretting his words. Thranduil feigned surprise.

“So defensive of two dwarves?! You must care about them very much, Thorin. I can imagine; two able-bodied, loyal, proud, and handsome dwarves. They can’t be more than eighty years old. Practically babies. Dwarflings who still long for home when they are travelling, and who cries for their mother when they encounter perils. Hardly the ideal travellers. But you, Thorin, I know for certain from my diplomatic relations with Erebor so many years ago that you are approaching two-hundred. A respectable age for a dwarf; when he is fully grown and strong, but not yet weathered by nature or old age. The natural age for being… a father of two.”

Thorin gasped and his eyes wildly scanned over Thranduil’s teasing expression and Thranduil soaked up the triumph. He had broken the dwarf. Thranduil stood up, let his cloak sweep around him dramatically, and tapped a single, pale finger once against Thorin’s now sunken shoulder to comfort him.

“Don’t worry, Oakenshield; I shan’t harm your sons and heirs, unless they or any other dwarf give me a reason to, but I expect royal dwarves to being used to courteous manner, even in capture. But I’m asking you now, when you are aware of what I know; what are your purpose with this journey that eventually brought you to my realm?”

Then Thorin lifted his head, a defiant gleam in his eyes and a confident smirk painting forming on his lips. “I cannot answer that question, except that we were starving.”

Sudden fury flared inside Thranduil and he strode away from the insufferable dwarf and wrenched the door open himself before allowing the guard outside to enter to watch the dwarf king.

The nerve of that savaged dwarf even in the face of an actual threat against his sons! Thranduil himself would never challenge anyone if his son Legolas’ life was at stake.

Then he drew a deep breath and waved his hand so a heap of green leaves swirled up from the floor and circled him, spreading their scent of living forest around the Elven king and soothing his emotions. So be it. He would visit the young, hopefully brash sons, separately of course, and interrogate them to see how willing they would be to reunite with their dear father in one cell for the simple prize of one clear answer to Thranduil’s question.

***

Thranduil decided to see the youngest one first in the draughty cell, as he assumed he would be easiest to break. Unfortunately, he was sorely disappointed.

Thranduil gasped and pressed a handkerchief against the burning spot on his cheek where the dwarf had bit him before guards had poured inside the cell and attached him firmly to the short chains against the stone wall.

Truly, Thranduil had not anticipated a young dwarf prince leaping at him so recklessly just to inflict some amount of pain. The stern guards gave the dwarf a final shove against the uneven stone for good measure before leaving Thranduil to start over with his interrogation.

Thranduil composed himself, schooled his features into a mask of lightheartedness, and put away the handkerchief beneath his coat. The sharp teeth had only grazed his skin, but the humiliation burned deeper than the pain. The short male’s brown eyes followed his every move from under his dirty fringe. Thranduil decided to use the slight against his person to his advantage.

“You will regret that offence, dwarf.”

The youth grinned cheekily, though Thranduil perceived how he shifted his hands uncomfortably in the tightened irons that restrained his movements.

“I’m fairly certain I’m the first dwarf ever to bite an Elf. My kin shall celebrate my feat so I don’t have much to be sorry for,” he replied smugly and Thranduil considered having him beheaded at once to prevent the spreading of a story that would shame his reputation, but then he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted.

Instead, the injured King stepped up to the dwarf and sunk onto his haunches before him, close, but well out of reach. “Have you at all entertained the idea that my revenge would not touch you, but your family?”

Large, brown eyes darted to his face and the dwarf lost his grin. “You wouldn’t.”

The protest was a mumble but Thranduil cruelly hissed, “Oh, I wouldn’t hesitate one moment. Unless…”

“Unless what?” the dwarf spat, though desperation and fear marred his features.

“Unless you answer a few questions. Think very carefully about your answers, for there are folk who depend on them.”

The dwarf recoiled, hit his head against the wall but he didn’t care about the pain. A shocked shout disturbed the silent cell. “You can’t! You’re an Elf! You have standards!”

“And you are intruders in my realm, assaulting my subjects at their feast, and attacking the King. I’m in every right to demand justice, so you better please me from now on if you want to see your kin unharmed!” Thranduil replied with ice lacing his words and the dwarf flinched, then his shoulders slumped. Oh, how he looked like his father when facing inescapable defeat.

“What do you want to know?”

“What’s your name, little one?”

“I’m Kili, Your Highness.”

Somehow, the dwarf made the title sound trivial. Still, Thranduil smirked and was glad at Kili’s cooperation.

“Well then, Kili; where is your father headed?”

Kili’s jaw fell open and he squinted his eyes at the King. Thranduil began to think that this one might be hasty in violence but a bit slow in the mind.

“To the halls of our ancestors?” Kili suggested slowly and Thranduil brought a hand to his temple, the beginning of a headache ailing him. He pondered whether it was brought on by his earlier memory search, or the stupidity of the stubborn dwarves.

“No, Kili, I’ve told you that Thorin is safe and alive. For now. I want a serious answer.”

Kili frowned and shifted his stance so the chains rattled. “What do you mean?” he asked and Thranduil snapped at him, “You are a prince and heir, for Valar’s sake! If Thorin deems you fitting for the throne in exile, just imagine how doomed Erebor would be if you ever thought of reclaiming it from the fire-dragon! I ask you again; where are you and your father Thorin leading this company of odd dwarves?”

Kili got a reverent look and then glanced down at his smudged boots that had trampled through mud and web. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone not bound by the contract.”

“But your father never fathomed being captured by me, did he? You are in no position to resist or negotiate.”

Suddenly the young dwarf made a disgustingly wet noise and then Thranduil observed with horror how a dribble of spit left his parted lips and clung to his mouth for a moment before falling to the floor between them, and only just failing to stain Thranduil’s garment.

A row of pointy, white teeth was flashed in his face and although his cheeks were rosy of excitement, the eyes carried a look of pure hatred similar to Thorin’s in the throne room.

“I don’t know nothing. My brother, Fili, is the first heir. He’ll be more informed of Da’s plans, and more inclined to talk, I suspect. By the way, can you get me something to eat; I’m famished and I do get grouchy when I’m hungry?”

The audacity of the dwarf, and his dismissal of Thranduil as be he a servant waiting for orders to accommodate his master, made the repulsed Thranduil stand and clench his hands into fists.

“As you wish, foolish Kili. I shall see your brother but I can't guarantee he will be treated as well as you in spite of your awful behaviour. He shall pay for your and Thorin’s obstinate natures.”

“No, wait!” Kili gasped, but Thranduil had already exited the cell with fleeting strides and instructed the Captain of the guards to not allow this particular dwarf any meal until the next day.

 ***

The blonde turned smoothly on the spot in the center of his cell so the moustache braids swung and observed how the Elven King entered in a haughty mood. The barely grown-up dwarf raised an eyebrow and hooked his fingers casually in his belt. Thranduil appreciated the muscled shape of both his arms that spoke of coordination to wield two swords at once.

“Ah, finally an audience with the mighty King of Greenwood! I am honored, Your Grace.”

Not entirely opposed the flattery from the smooth-talking and honest dwarf, a pleased Thranduil nodded courteously at him and the dwarf bowed his head slightly; a gesture that spoke a lot when it came to the strained relations between the two races, and coming from one prisoner to his captor. “I am Fili, at your service.”

Thranduil waved a hand to halt his next word. “I am pleased to see at least one royal dwarf of the Durin line behaving accordingly. Maybe there is hope for diplomatic improvements if you are being molded into the next ruler after your father Thorin Oakenshield.”

The blonde dwarf licked his lips and blinked before sweeping his arm in the air coquettishly. “I admit the mounting gneiss in his coal hair is starting to befuddle me. Maybe Da isn’t fit to sit on the throne.”

Thranduil released a gently laugh that sounded like sea pearls and crafted beads spilling across on the floor. “I did notice the grey strands. It’s unfortunate that your race doesn’t age as well as mine.”

Fili winked at him and delivered with waggling eyebrows, “Ah, but Your Majesty is surely not more than one thousand years old! If you are, you age well like the ale in our oaken barrels.”

Sensing how his headache mitigated into dull thuds, Thranduil smiled and consciously turned his head to the side so the amusingly flirty dwarf wouldn’t see the pink, teeth-shaped bruise on his cheek.

“Come now, Master Fili, none of that now. I have business to take care of. However, I hope your cooperation can be of help.”

“Oh? Do tell, Your Majesty.”

“I simply want to know what your Company was doing within the borders of my realm, and where you are headed.”

Fili pursed his lips and gave him a pensive look. “You ask me to betray the trust of our Company?”

Thranduil huffed before forcing a gentle smile onto his lips. “Master Dwarf, please don’t cause me any grief now when we have crafted a friendship. I know from a reliable source that you have the information I desire; information that your father shared with you.”

The blonde dwarf took a step back and tentatively emitted, “Who told you this?”

Thranduil replied simply, “Kili.”

The reaction wasn’t one he had expected. Fili began to laugh. “Of course he would blab. Unlike me, he has a tendency to get into trouble.”

"I agree, Master Dwarf, and my senses tell me that you however would be wiser, but still know what is best for you. Tell me something I need to know.”

Fili huffed and shuffled on his feet before cocking his head. “If I’m to be your informant, I demand something in return. I need guarantees that my family will not be harmed.”

This was acceptable. Thranduil nodded. “They will not.”

Fili held up a finger. “No, I don’t take your word for it, ever since you formed alliances with my great grandfather only to fail him when he needed the help the most. You have to swear an oath.”

Thranduil’s fingertips tingled from the eagerness to learn what Thorin was up to, so he complied. “Fine, I swear.”

Then Fili looked as if he had remembered something. “Also, got any leaf? I seem to have lost mine in the forest, but I do still have my pipe on me. You know; I’d rather chase away the lingering toxic fumes of Mirkwood from my clothes.”

This time, Thranduil retorted coolly, “The trees are sacred to us. We do not harvest their growing leaves for the sake of Dwarves and Men with drooping eyelids and lethargic limbs who enjoy stuffing their pipes!”

“Pity. Because you sure have a large stash in your tree palace.”

Thranduil attempted to compromise. “How about I have the guards bring you ale instead of water?”

“Aye, that’s a deal!”

Thranduil smiled curtly. “Good. Now, tell me.”

Fili looked over the elf’s shoulder as if checking for people overhearing them and then whispered, “I know a secret.”

Eager to learn of this, Thranduil let the dwarf lean in close, until his bushy moustaches tickled Thranduil’s ear but he endured it and the repulsive smell of unwashed dwarf because the reward was within his grasp.

“The truth is… my Da is not fit to sit on the throne of Erebor, for his spirit roams the halls of our ancestors since fifty-eight years.”

“Why are you speaking like that? Thorin is aliv...”

“My, Thorin’s, and Kili’s claim to the throne would be contested if word came out that Thorin favored his sister. Elves must look upon incest just like dwarves, I imagine.”

Thranduil gasped, scandalized but confused at the information, and reeled back while clutching his heart. “Are you telling me that Thorin has engaged in… _incest_? Is that why your brother looks exactky like a younger version of him? Wait, come to think of it, you barely look like him beside in the way you carry yourself. Has Thorin made other unmentionable actions? Has your father bred bastards across Middle-Earth? Who is your mother? An inn-keeper? A common harlot? How repulsive of him!”

Almost gleeful, Thranduil missed how the unbound dwarf pulled his arm back and then swung it, hitting the king’s cheek.

At the sheer power from the punch, Thranduil staggered and as his eyes swam, he had a hard time understanding what had happened before the shock arrived. He clutched his already swelling face and moaned, “What are you doing?”

Fili gave him an utterly indifferent look that could mirror one of his father’s. “I aimed for the teeth mark, Your Highness.”

And then he roared, “No-one calls my mother a whore and gets away with it! No-one calls Thorin a sower of wild oats, nor calls my brother a fruit of incest! And no-one certainly calls me a bastard! We are the honorable and proud Durin’s so you better start treating us with respect even if you hold us captive.”

“But… but…” Thranduil stammered and Fili threw his arms in the air, and the king was embarrassed to admit that he flinched a bit at the hasty move.

“For a thousand years old creature, you are dense like a sheep! How could you not make Kili tell you that his and my father is dead since years back? And our mother never fucked her own brother Thorin, my _uncle_ , and nor did they breed us because that is foul and my Ma’s One was Da, so she obviously wouldn’t love another dwarf that way. Anyone with a little knowledge about dwarves should know that our greatest love is reserved for one dwarf alone.”

Thranduil backed away from the cell on unsteady legs as the dwarf with crazed eyes began laughing. Fili shouted cheekily while brandishing a shit-eating grin at the retreating Elven King, “Tell me, Your Majesty; what is worst for a lineage? An uncle-father, or a brother-son?”

Disgraced and outraged at Fili’s blatant and lewd boldness, Thranduil’s pointy ears turned pink and his nostrils flared. Thranduil bristled and flaunted his garment as he spun around and hastily exited the prison to the roars of dwarvish laughter behind his back.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched a documentry about an elder man living in Georgia (the country). He was greeted by a friend with the words: So the fly of Death hasn't landed on you yet. It was such a random, funny and yet bold expression in my opinion, so I had to make a snarky Thorin use it on Thranduil. Basically, the Georgian proverb means expressing surprise that someone isn't dead. Oh, and yes, there is a Strike Back reference in there. I hope you had fun, and I do appreciate comments and kudos :)


End file.
